Crossing Over
by pearls1990
Summary: Wherein Miles Edgeworth and Sherlock Holmes know each other. Irene enters the picture and forces Miles to tell her about his past with Sherlock.
1. White Blank Page

Authors notes: Before you start reading, be aware that is a cross-over of BBC Sherlock and The Ace Attorney Games. It is very AU, and Miles might be out of character; I haven't written him in so long. The timeline of this is way skewed. I put The Ace Attorney universe back to current time, instead of in the future. Miles has been in Germany for about 4-5 months. Whose to say that he didn't have days where he would sulk around his bedroom or his flat. Also, to put a twist on things, I wanted them to be in college together. That part is based on ACD cannon where Holmes runs into the only other friend he had in college.

I do not have a Beta, so let me know if you see any glaring mistakes. Also let me know if you love it or hate it. If i get enough love I will continue.

* * *

Miles Edgeworth pulled the blanket closer as he listened to the wind drive the rain into the window of his flat. Grey light from the half opened curtain washed over him and he slumped into his chair, an action he would normally yell at other people for doing. Miles hated that he let the depression take over his life. His pride wouldn't let him go see a doctor or therapist to get help. He knew he would feel better if he did, but he also couldn't stand the thought of walking around in a haze of fake happiness caused by pills.

The shrill ring of his cell phone cut into his thoughts. He was surprised it still had any power. He couldn't remember the last time it was on the charger. Miles stared at the glow from the screen across the room until it stopped ringing.

'Good. I didn't want to talk to anyone anyway.'

Five minutes later, his housekeeper, who he didn't realize was in his flat, poked her head in his room.

"I'm sorry to bother you sir," she said in German. Miles turned to face her. She never spoke in German, unless it was important. "There is a man on the phone, says it's urgent that he talks to you."

Miles groaned, then answered back in German. "Did he say who he was?"

"No, sir, just that he occupies a minor position in the British government."

Miles smirked.

"I must say, that is the first real emotion that you've expressed in a long time!"

"Thank you Gerta," Miles reached out his hand. "I will take it."

Gerta rolled her eyes and picked up the handset that was on the small table next to Miles and handed it to him, then hung up her end.

"Really Miles," the voice on the other end scolded. "I have to call your land line to talk to you? I'm surprised you even have that still hooked up!"

"Always a treat to talk to you. I will find my cell and talk to you on that."

"I appreciate the discretion."

Miles hung up the handset and threw off his blanket. He sighed. His cell phone was across the room on a side table next to the window and it seemed so far away.

He picked up the handset and dialed a number. Greta's voice came over the speaker.

"Greta, can you get my cell phone?"

"Where is it sir?"

"On the side table, next to the window."

"..."

"Greta? Are you still there?"

Miles heard her sigh. "Sir, which table by which window?"

"The one here in my room."

"Sir, no."

She hung up on him.

He couldn't even muster the energy to be mad at her, even though she was the only one that ever said no to him. She stood her ground to him on her first day and it was then he knew she would be sticking around.

Miles rubbed his face in frustration. Why did Mycroft need to talk to _him _anyway? They barely spoke in five years.

Suddenly, his thoughts drifted to Mycroft's younger brother, Sherlock Holmes. They spent two years in college together before Miles's father moved him to another college. They met through Miles's Bull Terrier, Gladstone. Miles was reading in the courtyard, indulging in the quiet Sunday, and a little bit of Vitamin D, when a tall, lanky,dark-haired kid came running by and Gladstone chased his heels and bit him. The kid fell and Miles scolded Gladstone. Then he went over and inspected the kids heel.

"I'm really sorry about that." Miles said as he stooped. "I think he was spooked."

"Yeah, well, maybe he should be on a leash..." The kids statement drifted off and as he raised his head, Miles found himself lost in two amazing green-blue eyes he had ever seen.

"You're in most of my criminal law classes aren't you?" The kid furrowed his brow at Miles and Miles could feel his cheeks warm,

despite the cold weather.

"Yes, I guess I am." Miles gestured at the boy's leg. "May I? I have some knowledge on dog bites. I had to train Gladstone because he was a stray." Miles rolled up his left sleeve and showed a scar that were in the shape of teeth.

"Hmm..." Was all the other said. "I'll let you look at it if you help me to the infirmary afterward."

"Of course." Miles said as he lifted the other's pant leg. "My name is Miles, by the way."

"Sherlock Holmes."

"Gladstone just nipped you. You will be fine." Miles brought out a handkerchief and pressed it on the bite. Then with his other hand pointed. "My dorm is just over there. It's closer than the clinic, I can clean and dress it there."

Sherlock searched Miles's expression for any signs of sarcasm. Miles looked away under the intense scrutiny of the others stare.

"Or I can just help you across campus-"

"No, your dorm is fine." Sherlock shook his head and Miles stood and held his hand out to Sherlock. He was just about to take Miles's hand when Gladstone approached and licked Sherlocks face and nudged his arm.

"I think he's trying to apologize. Sorry about that." Miles bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Sherlock wiped the dog slobber from his face with the sleeve of his hoody that he was wearing under a black suit jacket. He took Miles's hand and stood up.

"Where were you going in such a hurry anyway?" Miles asked.

"Off to church."

"Oh, I didn't peg you as the religious type."

* * *

Miles's cell phone broke into his daydream. He rubbed his face again and sighed. He hadn't thought of Sherlock since he'd been with Phoenix. That thought alone was enough to shoot him out of his chair and over to his phone. He didn't need to be brooding over Phoenix.

Miles laughed out loud when he found his phone plugged into the charger. He unplugged it as he answered it.

"Miles, your lethargy is very unbecoming of you." He cringed at the sound of Mycrofts voice.

"How's the diet, Mycroft?" Miles smirked and he could practically hear the other's face getting red with anger at the other end.

"I see you've been speaking with my brother?"

Miles stopped pacing. "No, I can honestly say I haven't spoke with him in, well, quite a while."

"Listen Miles, I need you to do something for me."

"That doesn't surprise me." Miles said as he looked out his window.

"What doesn't?"

"It's what you and your brother do best, use people."

"I'm not sure what you are getting at, so I will pass over it. I have someone that I need you to hide for me."

Miles furrowed his brow in confusion. "Hide for you? I'm not the cleaners-"

"She needs to have a new identity and now that I've heard that you haven't talked with Sherlock in quite a while, I believe I've made the best decision in calling you for this."

Miles was so confused he couldn't respond.

"Miles? Are you still there?"

"Yes, but why me again?"

"I realize I have good connections in the States, but no one would expect to look where you would hide her. I suspect no one even knows our connection, Miles."

"Sometimes I forget."

"She was carrying very dangerous information with her; information about high British officials etc., and now she's been disarmed, so to say. She was also a Dominatrix."

"That's...an interesting cover-up for a spy."

"Oh no, she wasn't a spy. She just happened upon this information. I'm afraid now that she has given up this information, she will be hunted for her life."

"So, let me get this straight," Miles walked over to his nightstand and picked up his cloves and a lighter and lit up one before he continued. "This woman happened upon some information as she was working as a Dominatrix...she had pictures of higher-ups in compromising situations, and someone hired her to blackmail these people?"

"No it was a lot more complicated than that. I really do not want to talk about it over the phone." Mycroft paused. "Please, Miles, I need this from you."

Miles took a drag from the clove and contemplated the conversation.

"What's in it for me?"

"You will be paid handsomely for her accommodations and whatever you need to get her to her destination."

"Okay, there's always something else. It's never that easy, especially with you."

"Now you sound like you are talking about Manfred." Mycroft said.

"I don't speak of...him anymore." Miles drew a long drag off his clove.

"Well, what about Sherlock? What if I told you you're going to have to protect him, again, in the near future?"

Miles stiffened. He wasn't sure if he was ready to face Sherlock again; that wound was just starting to scar his soul.

"Has he...cleaned up?" Miles asked in a low voice, afraid the world might hear all about his indiscretions in that one sentence.

"Yes, well, as far as I can tell. John won't tell me anything, and Sherlock wouldn't admit to using anyway. If he is, he's doing outside the flat where I can't see."

"Ahh," Miles said and took the last puff of the clove and started digging for his long-lost ashtray. "Still playing the role of Big Brother, literally and figuratively?"

"It has to be done Miles. I have to keep track of him. There are things...there are people out to get him, and I'm not sure why yet."

"Hmmm, you've had that conspiracy for a while now. Don't you think it's high time you let it go, Mycroft?"

"No. Plus, John seems to keep him occupied."

"I bet he does..." Miles found his ashtray and snuffed out the clove, when something occurred to him. "Wait, who's John?"

"Doctor John Hamish Watson. Fresh from Afghanistan. Moved in with Sherlock after meeting a mutual friend."

"Are they-"

"Lovers? No. But they act as if they've known each other for longer than they have. I'm not sure what keeps John there, besides the fact he craves adventure."

"If he has this John guy, why the hell does he need me? He threw our friendship away a long time ago."

"You two were more than friends."

Miles bit his lip. He was trying hard to forget that. All the memories of those two torrid years came screaming back to him, and hit him like a freight train on a collision course with a truck. He fell down into his couch.

"Are you alright Miles?"

The gray-haired man drew in a deep breath.

"Yeah, I'll be alright."

"I'm afraid Sherlock will be in over his head soon, and he won't have John to turn to."

Miles rested his chin on his chest. He felt defeated. He couldn't help but compare what Mycroft said to his current situation. He hated the fact that he had to fake his own suicide just to run away and find himself; to find what it means to be a prosecutor.

"Miles I have been keeping track of Sherlock and all the people he's had contact with since our parents died."

"How did you know...never mind." Miles let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "I'm not proud of what I did."

"You would be surprised the amount of information I have on you and your family and your surrogate family. You were one of the only friends that Sherlock had that he would talk about in length. He was afraid. Afraid of what you represented, afraid of what you would do if he told you-" Mycroft broke himself off. "Well, I won't get into that. You will see him in the next few months. You two can talk about it. Tell me something Miles-"

"Yes, I did love him. Maybe not an everlasting, happy ever after love, but maybe, just a burning desire to have someone love me back sort of thing. He showed it many times, but he never said it."

"Hum," Mycroft paused as he took all that in. "I see."

"What, is that too deep for you to process? You are the Ice Man after all."

Miles thought he heard Mycroft say something, but he couldn't make it out.

Miles sighed.

"I have nothing better to do than brood. I will do this for you, but I will not enjoy it."

"Thank you Miles. You will receive an encoded text on all the details."

"Yeah, you're welcome." Miles started to hang up, then paused. "Mycroft?"

"Yes, Miles?"

"Can you do something for me?"

"It depends."

Miles shook his head.

"Will you give me notice before Sherlock comes barreling down to Germany to see me?"

"I can't guarantee anything. When everything goes down, I'm not sure what the hell is going to happen."


	2. Conversations With the Past

Irene enters the picture and forces Miles to tell her about his past with Sherlock.

* * *

Greta was all too thrilled when Miles finally pulled himself together and took a shower and actually groomed himself two days later. He dressed casually in a white button down shirt and dark blue suit-jacket with faded dark blue jeans. They were the only pants that he could find that fit his wiry frame. He hadn't realized how much weight he had lost in the past couple months. And, as he brushed his teeth, he tried to recall the last time he ate. He looked up at himself in the mirror for the first time and was shocked at what he saw there. Dark circles under his eyes and sunken cheeks. His hair hung lifelessly around his face. The last time he saw that face was two months before Manfred pulled him from Cambridge; the only time he was grateful to the bastard.

As his fingertips stroked his own cheeks, Miles's mind suddenly flashed back to Cambridge and tending Sherlock's ankle.

"Ohh, that stings," Sherlock hissed and flinched.

"Sorry," Miles brow was furrowed in concentration as he dabbed at the bite with cotton balls and peroxide.

"So..." Sherlock started to get his mind off the pain as he looked around Miles's tiny room. "Are you a freshman? Or just new?"

"Neither." Miles carefully lined the bandage up to cover the awkward shaped dog bite. "I'm a Sophomore, in the academic sense."

"What? Where's all of your posters and pictures?"

Miles met Sherlock's inquisitive gaze.

"I don't understand? What does that have to do with what year I am?"

Miles's hand lingered on Sherlock's leg and the weight of it was comforting somehow.

"Most students have posters on their walls and pictures of their families," Sherlock pointed at the walls. "You only have books lying around and," he squinted at the back of the door. "Is that an Anna Karenina movie poster?"

Miles glanced at the back of the door. The small red patch that formed on Miles's cheeks was not lost on Sherlock. "She reminds me of what my mother looks like in my dreams." Miles cleared his throat and started to tend to the bite again. Long pale fingers came into his vision as he looked up into a pair of sympathetic blue eyes. Sherlock's hand was cold.

"I lost my mother when I was really young. I understand what it means to see what you miss in your dreams."

Miles opened his mouth to say something, but it caught in his throat. He looked for any signs of sarcasm or mocking, and found none. He hoped that this man couldn't hear his heart trying to beat it's way out of his chest.

Sherlock smiled, and Miles thought it might be the second most beautiful thing he would ever see.

"You should come to church with me." Sherlock's voice crashed through Miles reverie like a bull in a china shop.

"I-I'm not a religious man. I don't practice any religion." Miles looked down at his hand. Sherlock pulled his away, and Miles missed the weight of it already.

"Oh, I don't go there to worship or anything," Sherlock shook his head slightly. "It's quieter than the library and I get a lot of reading done there."

Miles pondered his statement, then smirked. "Huh, guess I never thought of it before."

"Not many do," the dark haired man shifted. "Am I good?"

Miles furrowed his brow at the other and he gestured to the bite.

"Oh, heh, yes," Miles lifted his hand off Sherlock's leg, and for the second time, felt the heat rise to his cheeks. Sherlock smirked internally at him, but couldn't figure out the slight emptiness that filled him when Miles lifted his hand off his leg. Sherlock stood and dusted himself off and grabbed his leather messegnger bag. Then, held his hand out to help Miles up off the floor. Miles smiled his appreciation, and when he wrapped his hand around the others, a spark seemed to surge through his body. He thought he saw Sherlock flinch, but couldn't be positive. He let go and sighed as an uncomfortable silence passed between them.

"I should...I should go," Sherlock sniffed and started out. He turned suddenly before exiting the room and bent to let Gladstone sniff his hand. The pup sniffed then licked Sherlock's hand and the man scratched the pup behind his ears. He stood and started out of the room.

"Wait!" Miles called and the dark-haired man stopped. "I'll go with you."

X*X*X

Miles suddenly found himself standing on the curb outside his flat, hailing a cab. He blinked, trying to recall the past few minutes, but the only thing he could recall was the daydream he just experienced. He bit his lip and looked back at the building that his flat was housed in as a cab pulled up in front of him and he got in.

Forty-Five minutes later, Miles was standing in the airport, holding a sign with the name 'Clara Burton' written on it. Mycroft had given him a description of the woman he was looking for, and it didn't do justice to the real person. He watched as the woman made her way down the crowded stairs. She had an elegant air about her as she smiled at him. Her auburn hair fell in loose curls past her shoulders and she was dressed simply in a dark blue over coat and glossy blue heels.

"Miles Edgeworth, I assume?" She asked as she approached him.

"Yes. It's very nice to meet you." Miles held his hand out and shook her hand.

"You as well," she smiled at him and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle as he held his elbow out for her to hold. "I was surprised when Mycroft got ahold of me and told me about you. I didn't think he cared."

"Heh, well, the Holmes brothers are a strange lot. Do you have any bags checked?"

"No, I actually don't. I have everything in here." She patted the large leather tote that she had slung over her shoulder. Miles detected a sad note in her voice. "You know both Holmes brothers?"

"Yes. I met Sherlock in college, but haven't seen him since then. Mycroft had come to my dorm room one evening demanding that I watch over his brother only three days after I had met Sherlock. He even offered to pay me, but I refused." Miles stopped himself before he started talking about his relationship with Sherlock with a stranger.

"You refused money from Mycroft?"

"It...there's a whole story behind it that is way too long to tell. And complicated."

Clara glanced at Miles. He was a handsome man, but there was a sadness about him. Like he had just lost someone or something close to him. She wasn't going to pry; it wasn't her business, nor her style anymore.

The drive back to Miles's flat was full of small talk and a detour to show Clara a couple of his favorite places in Berlin.

X*X*X

"Your name isn't Clara is it?" Miles said a half an hour later as they sat in front of the fire place in his flat. He wrapped his hands around a glass of scotch.

"You've pieced things together I take it?" She smiled at him before she took a drink of her scotch.

"Yes, Mycroft told me the basics, just not your real name."

"You seem like a trustworthy man, Miles. If you promise not to speak it outside of this flat, I will tell you my real name." She stared into her glass as a faraway look came over her pretty face. "It'll be nice to be called by my real name."

"I promise." Miles said before taking a drink.

"Irene Adler."

Miles studied her. "That's a beautiful name. I read about you in the rags. I may have visited your website a couple times before it was taken down."

Irene's eyebrows shot up. "You don't seem the type of man that would be interested in what my website offered. Although, I stopped being surprised after I serviced the CEO of a major baking firm in London."

"It was more curiosity than anything else. I wanted to see the woman who beat Sherlock Holmes at his own game."

"How much of that do you know about?" Irene shifted in her seat as Miles stood and walked over to the window. He peeked out at the busy street below, then grabbed a clove out of its' pack, offering Irene one and she gestured her refusal.

"I read John Watson's blog, and a couple of news clippings." He said after he lit the clove and took a deep drag.

Irene sighed. "He really is a genius of sorts. He is very emotionally detached. It was hard breaking his shell, and I think that I only got through one layer. Something tells me that John knows the real Sherlock Holmes; the one behind all the deductions and clever rationalizations."

"How close are Sherlock and John?"

"Well, a lot closer than either of them will ever admit. I think Sherlock would kill for John and vice-versa. In fact, I know John killed someone defending Sherlock. Sherlock told me one evening, the same evening I broke through the one layer. He said that he had been tracking a serial killer and almost ended up a victim himself. A shot was fired with only the precision and accuracy that a soldier would have. John Watson was a soldier in Afghanistan. A medic to be exact." She paused and took a drink. "They had only known each other for 72 hours and John Watson saved Sherlock."

"He has that effect on people." Miles said quietly, taking another deep drag on his clove.

"What?"

"Nothing." Miles shook his head and turned his gaze out the window.

"You were involved with Sherlock somehow weren't you?"

Miles turned to face Irene and gave her a sad smile, then finished his scotch. "Would you like some more?"

"Yes please, and I will take a clove, if you don't mind." Irene stood and walked over to Miles and gently grabbed his wrist. "Then you are going to tell me about you and Sherlock Holmes."

Miles started when the woman grabbed his wrist. His eyes met her intense blue ones and he opened his mouth to say something, but chuckled softly instead. Irene furrowed her brow in confusion.

"Heh, we might be up all night then."

"I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Unless you have me booked on the next flight to L.A.?"

It was Miles's turn to look at her in confusion. She smiled a sly smile.

"I did my homework as well, Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth."

"Let me grab the bottle of Scotch and another pack of cloves. These aren't easy memories."

Irene gave his wrist a small squeeze before she let go. "I'm sorry. I have a tendency to come across very forceful and nosy. You don't have to tell me."

"No, it'll be good to finally get everything off my chest." He nodded at her. Irene wrapped her arms around herself as she watched him walk out of the room.

'Nothing is ever easy with Sherlock.' She thought as she shivered.


End file.
